


Did You Tell Him Yet?

by indigogreyx



Series: Ambiguous Storek Threesomes [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Adult Content, Alpha Derek, Alpha Males, Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Angst, Ass to Mouth, Blow Jobs, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Play, Dom/sub Undertones, Dominance, Exhibitionism, Explicit Consent, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Eye Contact, Eye Sex, F/M, Female Character In Command, Fingerfucking, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Gay Sex, Incest, Incest Kink, Incest Play, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Missionary Position, Multi, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Sexual Content, Shameless Smut, Sibling Incest, Smut, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M, Undressing, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-29
Updated: 2013-08-29
Packaged: 2017-12-24 23:56:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/946211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigogreyx/pseuds/indigogreyx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Stiles wakes up after the – “incident,” Cora is snoring lightly through her heat, so Stiles dresses with a few glances over his shoulder and makes his way down the stairs. And…nothing. No Derek. He doesn't see him around town either, all week, so of course...Stiles comes back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Did You Tell Him Yet?

**Author's Note:**

> This time it's mostly Sterek (with some fluffy angst), no Stora physical contact. But there is a little Halecest this time, and Cora's giving the directions. Again, this takes place in a little AU timeline, since I don't think Derek would be this functional at any point after recovering Cora from the bank.

They don’t talk about it.

Which isn’t weird, since Cora has a habit of never showing up for school and Derek only leaves his loft for gallons of milk, but it’s – something they need to talk about. When Stiles wakes up after the – “ _incident_ ,” Cora is snoring lightly through her heat, so Stiles dresses with a few glances over his shoulder and makes his way down the stairs. And…nothing. No Derek. He checks his phone; it’s been a couple of hours since he arrived, and he feels…weird about just sitting on the couch and waiting. How’s he going to broach the topic, anyway? _“Hey, Derek, you just saw more of me than I’m pretty sure Scott ever has, besides those baths in grade school, and I was curious if you talk like that to everyone that has sex with your sister? Not that there are a lot of them, it just seemed like an interesting ‘family bonding’ experience, and it really turned me on, so I was wondering – “_ No.

So Stiles leaves. The stairs out of the loft are probably the most gut-wrenching moments of his life that don’t involve werewolves or paralyzing lizards or dudes spewing black blood out of their mouths, because running into Derek on the narrow stairwell would just be…too much awkward and uncertainty. Luckily, he doesn’t. And he doesn’t run into him in the parking lot at school either (apparently, that was a “last year” thing). Or at the grocery store, or the gas station, or the hospital when Stiles stops by because…well, it seems like a place where Derek or someone he’s close to will probably end up. But nothing.

So, of course…Stiles comes back.

It’s after school on Friday, because he knows Derek is too antisocial to deal with what little rush hour Beacon Hills has, so he takes the stairs two at a time before his sneakers skid in front of the door. Metal, large, unnecessary…he guesses it made Derek feel safer. That or he likes a pad that reflects his own cold, impenetrable self. _Poetic._

Steeling against the discouragement a…sliding door just gave him, Stiles lifts his fist, preparing to knock and shifting his bookbag on his back. Of course, someone’s heard him (it is a crib full of _werewolves_ ), and the door slides open before he even touches it to reveal an apathetic face of black scruff.

Stiles continues holding his hand up for a moment, feeling his mouth fall open before letting the fist drop. He panics, resorting to any option but discussing what he’s _actually_ here for; that seems to be his M.O. with this apartment. “Uhm…is Cora here?” Derek shakes his head minisculely, because yeah, god, what a crime if he actually exerted _effort_ into answering Stiles’s questions. So Stiles clears his throat, knowing Derek will hear how quickly his heart is pounding to redden his cheeks. “All right, cool, I’ll just – come back later.”

But Derek stops him with a word. That voice, the one Stiles has been hearing muttering directions and demands and sometimes encouragements when he’s arching his hips up on his bed and biting his lip so he doesn’t wake his dad by sweating and cumming across his fist with shaky breaths. It’s Derek’s voice. Always.

“Stiles.”

He freezes, feeling his chest tighten, and he tries to blink back to the present. Derek’s smirking at him, hearing every – fucking bodily function, and Stiles swipes his palms across his thighs as subtly as possible when Derek’s gaze drifts to them. Then his gaze flicks up, like a lighter, making Stiles impossibly hotter. “Come in.”

“Uh – yeah, sure,” he mutters, jerking forward uneasily in a way that makes Derek laugh. And Stiles is just…really…confused by that. And Derek, it seems, is too. His face falls, jaw tensing and eyebrows knit, and Stiles wonders if it actually happened at all.

But Derek moves on quickly, back to whatever he was doing, and Stiles shifts awkwardly for a moment before following. He glances around, feeling the moments just before a slow panic starts to set in, and he watches as Derek spreads butter on a piece of toast…weird. Because Derek doesn’t seem like the type of guy to eat toast, eat _anything_ , let alone gentle enough to spread butter on it.

“Uh…should I…?” Stiles jerks his thumb towards the door, his whole body following it with a nervous smile, despite the fact that Derek _literally just invited him in_. Naturally, Derek chuckles again down at his toast, but it’s not the same noise Stiles heard moments ago… _if_ he’d even heard it.

“I have a proposition for you, Stiles.” Stiles blinks as Derek turns, leaning with his hip against the counter that’s…really very muscular and somehow looks so…domestic right now as he bites his toast, eyebrows raised when he catches Stoles looking. Stiles glances away, mouth popping open and fingers (distracting, Derek said it, Derek had _said that_ ) going to the back of his pink neck. “Uh…what?” He chuckles, strained, but manages to get it out and meet Derek’s eyes and throw up a hand before letting it drop to his side. “Because, you know, last time you came at me with that, _I_ came -“

“It’s exactly like that.”

Stiles’s jaw clenches so hard he feels his teeth grate. Because he…this can’t…he’s living in a fucking _porno_ , but maybe he misunderstood it, maybe it’s – it can’t be real, it _can’t,_ so he opens his mouth again.

“ – you mean you want me to…or you…”

He thinks Derek really only stays quiet so often to make Stiles flounder, and he is floundering, but Derek is just looking on with that same bored expression he only seems to reserve for occasions when he should be _freaking the fuck out_. Finally, Derek speaks. “I want to fuck you. If it’s all right.”

If it’s all _right_? Stiles’s gets _angry_ at that, because _what the_ hell _are these people doing_? You don’t go eighteen years without receiving more than a drunken kiss in a basement only to be come onto _twice_ by the same gorgeous family. And so _casually_. Stiles’s brows knit, eyes darting sideways but _wild_ before he pries his gaze back to Derek and thrusts his hand out front. “Are you _kidding_ me?!”

Derek has to nerve to reply easily: “No.”

A rush of air escapes Stiles, shooting straight up to the ceiling as he flails, and he realizes now thank _god_ he’s chosen anger as his current emotional state or otherwise he’d be a babbling, blushing mess. “You can’t just… _say_ things like that! Would you just walk up to someone on the street and say, ‘ _Hey, nice dick print, I want to be_ in you _?_ ’” Stiles’s impression of Derek is, admittedly, way off, with invisible suspenders and a strange bowlegged trot, but he thinks it gets the point across. Derek takes another bite of his toast, _still looking bored_ , and places it back on the plate. He swallows. Not speaking with his mouth full. Fucking _asshole_.

“Yeah. If they were you.”

…Stiles is stunned into silence. Yet again. Because that – sounds like it means something, underneath, but Derek’s face is just this side of betraying emotion, but he keeps it reigned in. And Stiles – doesn’t know how to react. So he just nods a little, glancing down at his feet before back up to Derek’s eyes. “ – Yeah. All right.”

Which is how they end up crushed together, Stiles toppling back onto a floor bed that’s off the corner of the living room, and maybe this is Derek’s bed, but Stiles really isn’t worried about it right now because Derek’s scratching stubble along his neck and tugging up his shirt easily, and Stiles is just trying to keep his elbows straight so he can get out of his fucking clothes.

“So – fucking _hot_ ,” Derek breathes against his neck, and Stiles laughs at that, because it doesn’t sound like anything Derek  Hale would ever say. But Derek nips at his throat, growls, and Stiles quiets with wide eyes before shimmying out of his shirt. His hands scramble for Derek’s, and for a few minutes, that’s all it is: hands and clothes being tugged and shoes toed off between little kisses and grunts of exasperation. Finally, though, they’re both nude, and Stiles notices it about the same time Derek does. A crooked smirk makes its way over Derek’s lips, and Stiles is flushing, looking down between them like he can’t help it and – oh.

Yeah.

 _That_.

“You can take it,” Derek murmurs, but Stiles really isn’t sure he can, because it’s – big, not just compared to Stiles’s, and he really – fuck, he’s only ever…worked himself open over his own fingers once he read about the prostate in middle school sex ed, and that was – _nothing_ compared to what he’s looking at now.

“We’ll have a safeword. …we can _stop_ , if you want.” Derek’s looking over him like he’s hungry, hands tense but not – touching, and Stiles is once again struck with the feeling that there’s something _else there_.  So he just shakes his head and tries to cover himself nonchalantly, which doesn’t work out well since the sheets are still tucked in at the sides. “No, I – yeah, safeword…sounds good.” Derek’s eyes flicker up, snarky, and Stiles is tempted to let out another string of sassholery to throw him off his game. But he doesn’t, and Derek moves downward, teeth and lips dragging over Stiles’s stomach like he’s painting it. “’Yellow’ if you want me to stop what I’m doing at the moment. ‘Red’ if you want to stop completely.” He glances up. “Got it?”

Stiles nods, lips flapping to babble out a final word of sarcasm or witr or hey, maybe something charming for once, but Derek is already spreading his legs and lowering his mouth and watching Stiles every step of the way. It feels like – _nothing_ like his fingers. Derek’s tongue is _wet_ , and hot, stiff when it needs to be but _pliant_ , and _trying_ , and Stiles knows Derek’s using his superhuman speed to flutter it around and inside him with tight circles. Stiles groans, head lolling back and hips arching because it’s – Derek Hale’s face is _between his legs_ , licking him and fucking him and – fuck, he’s good, he’s _sogood_ , and Stiles is really starting to wonder what the Hale’s were _really_ practicing at their family reunions. But then Derek is pulling away, and Stiles whimpers and wriggles, but Derek just chuckles as he reaches into the nightstand and pulls out a bottle of lube. And of course, yeah, Derek would…totally have that. Handy.  – has he ever worked _himself_ open?

Derek slicks his fingers up, watching Stiles as he jacks those two fingers slowly with his fist, purely for Stiles’s benefit and yeah, it’s really beneficial. When Stiles is whining enough… _writhing_ enough, Derek moves back to him, hovering his lips near Stiles’s and slowly slipping a hand between his legs. “You think you can handle it?” It’s partly a question, checking if Stiles is all right, Alpha Asshole Derek no longer shoving Stiles into walls or punching through his fist. But it’s also coy, teasing, his lips curving up into a scythe as he slowly works one finger in.

Stiles groans, lifting his hips, because everything _about_ Derek is bigger, his dick and his fingers, and it – curls just right, stretching him, and he’s – not sure he can take it. Not because it hurts, but because it’s so _good_ , and Stiles just – wants…he _wants_.

“Yeah… _fuck_ , like that.” Derek’s voice is strained, spiraling up to Stiles’s ears but he can – hardly focus, even when Derek takes his time sliding in a second, sucking in Stiles’s groans with wet lips and a toying swirl of tongue. He takes care working Stiles open, slow and sensual, watching every hitch of breath and tense of fingers in the mattress with glassy eyes that are making Stiles’s head swim. Until he stops. Again. “I really can’t – take any more of this wai…” But Derek’s not leaving, he’s lining himself up, _him. self,_ his _dick_ , and Stiles is so fucking ready for it he keens and moans in his throat and Derek’s eyes flash up immediately. “I can wear a condom if you want. But I can’t carry anything, so – neither one of us are – “

“No – _jesus_ , Derek, that’s not…” Stiles shakes his head, groaning and extending his throat, and Derek makes a little, tiny noise down the bed. “Keep going. No condom. Just keep – yeah, just – _green_ , or what _ever_ , just keep…”

Derek doesn’t wait after that. He moans, pushing his hips forward, making Stiles suck in a breath and tighten everywhere around him. Derek runs his hands down Stiles’s thighs, over and over, soothing him into his body relaxing around him. And Stiles does. Until Derek bottoms out, tipping forward with eyes closed, both of them groaning until Derek starts pumping his hips in slow rotation. He swivels, hitting every spot inside Stiles he never knew – _existed_ , and Stile is crying out, and Derek’s not even shushing him, just squeezing his thighs tighter and grinding out encouragements with his hips and his lips and the smooth press of his fingers.

A door slams. Stiles tenses, because – fuck, if he just heard it, _surely_ Derek knew someone was coming (pun intended) minutes ago, and it’s got to be – the Alpha Pack, or Cora, both of which would be sufficiently awkward despite the fact that he already…had sex with one of them.  But it feels – so fuck _good_ that Stiles can’t pull himself away, just tenses, lying awkwardly frozen beneath Derek where he just continues thrusting.  Stiles must have tightened around Derek too, because now Derek’s groaning, eyes cinched shut and leaning forward slightly and hand rubbing small circles against Stiles’s thigh again. “ _Relax_ ,” Derek chokes out, a small strand of sweat blooming across his chest, and Stiles wishes he could stop being _aroused_ right now.

So he tries, but then Cora’s sauntering over from behind his head, and Stiles is glancing between them because it looks like Derek is doing his best to ignore her. But not _stopping_. Never stopping.

“Well well…look what we have here.” Cora circles back behind Derek, looking over them like this is – normal, and what the _fuck_ is up with these Hales and their ideas of when to remain calm? Derek still has his eyes shut, hard, thrusting into Stiles and making him whimper while he tries to decide if this is hot, or weird, or both, weirdly hot. “I could be jealous, but.” Cora shrugs, leaning closer to Derek’s ear and smirking at him. “I got there first.”

Derek snarls, and Stiles’s eyes widen, because he’s pretty sure Cora’s toying with Derek on _purpose,_ and he…seems to enjoy it. And hate it. A sort of pleasure pain, some humiliation kink, because Derek’s fingers are leaving impressions in Stiles’s hips and his breath’s coming harder and – yeah, _Stiles_ is going to be cumming harder at this rate.

“Did you tell him yet?”

That makes Stiles glance up, as much as he can while Derek is lifting his hips – just like that, and raking over his prostate with every thrust. Tell  - what? He tries to look confused, but it tapers off into his eyes rolling up, because Derek is twisting his fist around Stiles’s head like he’s trying to distract him and – oh – _fuckyeah_ , it’s working.

“Aw, don’t tell me you _didn’t_.” She’s smirking now, laughing, her arms draped around Derek’s shoulders and her nose nuzzling behind his ear. She takes his lobe between her teeth, dragging it down, cutting Stiles a sideways glance with a sneer.  “He looks so _good_ spread out like that for you.” She turns back, smiling against Derek’s ear with a slow flicker of tongue. “Bet you wish you could have him like that for _good_.”

Stiles blinks, panting, and for the first time Derek meets his eyes. Like he’s – ashamed, but not of – himself, like he’s – sorry Stiles has to hear it. And Stiles isn’t even sure what he _heard_ , let alone what it _means_ , so he just blinks and pants and lets Derek keep grinding into him. But – Derek looks like he’s about to stop, like it’s too much, like he’s putting something on Stiles that he might not want, and Stiles – Stiles stops him. He latches onto his wrists, and Derek ‘s face freezes while his hips rock, looking painfully at Stiles, and Stiles…doesn’t really know what he’s doing. He just knows this feels good, it feels – _comfortabl_ e, not just a show, and Derek seems to _get that_ from his eyes.

“Maybe I should make you say _my_ name.” The noise Derek lets out is one Stiles has never heard before, a high whimper, like he’s _begging_ her not to, and – Stiles doesn’t know why. But Cora just clucks her tongue, waving her hand and moving away like she can’t be bothered. “Go on and say what you want,” she calls over her shoulder and moving up the stairs. “We all know you’re _dying_ for it.”

And Derek cums then, suddenly, shaking and groaning and leaning forward and – saying Stiles’s name. _Gritting it_ , more like, like it wants to tear out of his chest but he can’t let it. Like it’s a secret. Wide-eyed, Stiles grips his wrists harder, breath hitching when Derek pushes as deep as he can inside. Stiles whines, making Derek back out slightly in his haze while his chest heaves around his heart.

“Sorry.” It’s a gasp, forehead dipping down to Stiles’s as they both search for breath. Stiles just nods, every part of him open, eyes and lips and stretched around Derek who is steadily softening and…something else is open too. Because he’s drunk on what Cora’s words meant, but he doesn’t know _why_ , and he doesn’t know how to be, right now, without – knowing. “ – so – what…should I…?” Stiles doesn’t know what he’s supposed to be doing, if he’s supposed to…slip out with his dick tucked up into his waistband, if he’s supposed to wait for Derek to get hard again, or if he’s supposed to…ask him what Cora meant. But apparently, it’s not any of that. Because Derek is sliding out, hissing, teeth bared as he presses closer to Stiles’s throat, and Stiles catches the outline of glowing red eyes.

“You’re gonna cum for me, is what you’re gonna fucking do.”

And he does. Once Derek takes him in his fist, then his mouth, bobbing and swirling his tongue and watching Stiles just like Cora did a week ago. But his eyes are so much – _sadder_ , and Stiles is sure Derek doesn’t mean for him to see it, but he does, and it’s so – potent, it’s so – _real_ , and Stiles has never seen Derek look like this, like a – fucking _person_ , with _emotions_ , and a _heart_ that he’s trying to cover up with sex and gruff orders the same way Stiles uses humor. So Stiles lets go. And Derek swallows all of it, every drop, every aborted noise Stiles makes, and at some point Derek’s mouth moves from around his length to hover over his mouth, and it takes Stiles a long moment until he can open his eyes to the uncertain breaths across his lips.

Stiles blinks up, and Derek stares down, the air between them frozen and swirling with _something_ until Stiles finally speaks. “ – I – have to go.”

And he does. Jumping up and tugging on his shirt and boxers before gathering the rest of his clothes in his arms. He stumbles out into the hallway and down the stairwell, avoiding a glance back to Derek or his apartment, where someone’s looking at him with a question he doesn't understand. Or, maybe worse…with nothing at all.


End file.
